My emotions were running haywire as well. There were days when I would cry with anticipation of our son or daughter, and other days that would find my curled up into a nervous ball of worry wondering how we would ever manage to raise a child. We were the most selfish people I knew, how would there ever be room for another being in our lives? Futhermore, what if we messed this up? What if we raised a drug addict or worse? What if our child denied God some day? I was not nonchalant towards the issues, I knew we were being given something huge, and it terrified me.
Yet, when I closed my eyes, I could see the back of my child’s head as he or she slept, the way the his or her hair rested on their neck, and the gentle rising of their back. I could see tiny fingers wrapped around my larger ones, and blue eyes searching my brown ones. I could hear coos and gurgles of laughter, I could hear my child saying my name, “Mommy”, I could hear cries for hunger, cries for attention, cries from a good spanking, well-deserved. I could feel my child suckling at my breast, all of me pouring into this life, nourishing this baby. My Mom drew an outline of the baby on my belly so we could see how big he or she was getting. We listened to our baby's heartbeat and imagined future lectures. My impatience for the birth day grew, and when July 20th, my due date, came and went, my anticipation heightened.